Paper Moon
by 6GunSally
Summary: Edgeworth and Franziska escape into the neutral zone, and find a bond along the way. WWII AU based on ghostfacekiller39's TREES OF GREEN. (Don't worry I asked permission before I put this up.) You probably don't want to read this crap anyway...
1. It's Only a Paper Moon

_**Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).**_

_**The song "It's Only a Paper Moon" was written by Harold Arlen in 1933. I recommend the Nat King Cole version available from King's Road Music.**_

_**This story is set against the backdrop of World War II, in an AU created by Ghostfacekiller39. It's spun from his amazing story 'Trees of Green, and Red Roses Too'. It is, if you will, a fan-fiction of a fan-fiction. (I hope no one is offended...)**_

* * *

**Chapter One**

**It's Only a Paper Moon**

Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth leaned back against the tree and pulled her closer. The girl stirred, but she was too exhausted to be torn from sleep. She shivered slightly in his short coat. Her dress was torn and ragged from their travel. She was wearing a pair of his socks and they slid from her calves and bunched up against the top of the purloined pair of boots he'd managed to grab from the medical tent without anyone noticing.

At least the rain had stopped. It wasn't any less wet and uncomfortable, but it was better than rain. He heard Franziska mutter quietly in her sleep and turned his head slightly so he could bury his nose and mouth in her hair. He didn't dare go to sleep.

Edgeworth had always prided himself on his intellect. He was a very smart man, and he knew it. That was the path he had chosen. How then, did he end up in this predicament? Deserting, with the daughter of one of the Nazi's top commanders in tow?

He closed his eyes against his own shivering and took comfort in the pressure of her head against his chest. He did this for her. Now they had enemies on both sides of this Great War—all they could hope for was to find a place to hide until it was safe. Surely, even this war had an end.

They'd been running for two days and most of the previous night. Franziska never uttered a single complaint in spite of the hardship and that brought him strength where his strength was starting to fail him. He sighed softly into her platinum hair and paused to marvel at the scent of her. Her hair still held the faint touch of flowers—gardenia maybe—in spite of several days of rough quarters and now their mad dash through farms and fields and forest.

His stomach growled audibly as he sat, waiting for the sun to rise and warm them through another day in the quiet forest. He'd grabbed what he could from the meager supplies Private Armstrong had stashed in the old barn his squad was quartered in. What he had he'd wait to share with Franziska when she was awake. Things couldn't get more dire and desperate as they were right then.

He pressed his back against the tree and closed his eyes against the gnawing hunger pangs, the cold and wet seeping through his canvas pants, and the slight warm weight of the girl in his arms, and wished he could be anywhere but where he was right now.

His stomach growled again and Edgeworth felt her move against him. The sweet pungency of wet wool hit him as she pressed more closely against him. He'd given her his short coat, as the thin muslin of the dress she was wearing did nothing against the rain. His own shirt, rough Army issued cotton, held up better. If giving up the coat meant a little more suffering so this girl could keep warm, so be it. He could live with that.

They didn't speak the same language and they'd shared less than a dozen words between them. And yet, Edgeworth realized with a small smile, he'd never had his feelings stirred the way this girl seemed to stir them.

Edgeworth stared out through the black treetops at the rising moon and the weak light that was starting filter through them. It caught highlights in her hair and in the coils of the whip she was still clutching in her hands. She sighed in her sleep and it made him feel almost joyful in spite of the damp and the biting cold.

But moonlight wasn't warming, not like sunlight, and though he was almost desperate for it, Edgeworth didn't dare even the fire to light a cigarette. Not when they were this close. So he suffered in silence, finding enough comfort in the presence of this girl.

* * *

Franziska awoke with the dawn. The soldier still had his arms around her, his back against a tree. She pulled away from him slowly not wanting to disturb what looked like a peaceful slumber. She stood slowly and stretched her legs discreetly—they'd been walking for days and her legs were beyond tired.

The soldier lay against the tree where she left him when she moved further into the trees to take care of her toilet. He was a handsome man at least, she might've done much worse. She stood watching him sleep for several minutes before letting her whip slide loose from her hand. She raised her arm and then thought better of it and tapped him with the whip instead. He startled awake and glared at her hard before his gaze softened and he pushed himself up. He said something to her in English, it wasn't 'good morning' but he didn't pause and stare at her awaiting an answer.

At least he'd figured out how annoying that was. He stood and stretched before bending to scrape together some kindling for a small fire. She moved over to pull his kit out, looking for food. She'd had about enough of these beans, but one had to eat. Especially if they were counting on another day of walking.

He lit a cigarette and offered her one. When she shook her head, he walked off into the trees to relieve himself. She squatted near the fire to warm her hands. She paused to scratch at the collar of the annoying wool coat he'd given her. It stank like sheep and the rain hadn't helped that along. But he'd freely given it right from his back, and it wouldn't do to hand it back in complaint. She was better than that.

He returned and dug in his kit for two cans of beans and then frowned as he counted what they had left. He returned one can to his bag. Franziska moved so that he had some space near the poor little fire. She frowned watching him open the can with the tool he kept on his belt. She hoped they were close to where they were going.

Actually, she was certain he didn't know where they were going, either. Only that it was in Switzerland. Switzerland wasn't at war like everywhere else.

When he got the can open he took out his spoon and took a spoonful straight out of the can and shoved it into his mouth before sticking the spoon back into the can and handing the whole thing over to her. He stood and walked to the edge of the forest to stare out at the field they'd crossed the night before.

Franziska frowned at the canned beans and stirred the thick bland paste before she began to eat. She was hungry and that was enough to make anything palatable. She smiled when she remembered the hamburger he'd given her at his camp.

"Ed-worth," she said between mouthfuls of beans.

He turned to look at her from where he was studying his map and compass.

"I want burger…"

He smiled at her before turning back to his map, "Me too."

She'd finished most of the can before realizing he'd only had a mouthful for himself.

"Ed-worth," she held the can up to him when he paused from gathering their meager things together. He gave another small smile and a nod when he took it from her.

The sun was still rising when they set off again. The soldier held her hand and tempted though she was to pull away, she felt it was the least she could do for him.

They were both exhausted and it showed in the dreary pace they took in skirting the edge of the forest heading southeast. At least it wasn't raining. That did wonders to raise their spirits.

The soldier insisted they stay out of the open, no roads and no open fields if it could be avoided. The forested route made the going rough and as the day warmed into afternoon Franziska fell behind. The soldier was pushing ahead with a desperate sense of urgency and she didn't speak enough English to understand why. When they'd escaped in the dark of early morning a few days ago, she'd had the impression they were being followed. But three days out, there were still no signs of a pursuit.

He paused up ahead to wait for her. She lifted her chin when she caught him up and passed him without a pause. She didn't need him to think she needed his concession. He started whistling where he walked a few paces behind her. The tinny sound was comforting and there was no one around to complain save for the birds, maybe.

He took her arm and it startled her. She hadn't realized she'd slowed again. She didn't protest and after a short pause, he began whistling again. Franziska smiled and brought her other hand up to hide it. One might get the impression she was enjoying this.

The tune was not one she recognized easily, but it was jaunty and pleasant. It's not as if they would be having a conversation instead.

"…_it's a Barnum and Bailey world_," he sang it softly under his breath, "_Just as phony as it can be…_"

The words were odd and held no meaning, but she smiled again. This time she didn't hide it.

"_But it wouldn't be make believe if you believed in me_…"

* * *

**_A/N: Thanks for Reading! Thanks again to ghostfacekiller39 for allowing me to write and post this story..._**

_This is a short story, told in 5 chapters. Out of respect to G39, I will not post the remainder of this until after TREES OF GREEN is completed. Again, one gets antsy when one writes something new, and I was dying to share. I hope somebody likes this..._


	2. Desperate

**Chapter Two**

**Desperate**

Edgeworth stopped and turned to watch her. She adamantly refused to be coddled on what was starting to feel like a forced march through the worst trees and mud they'd encountered yet. She'd swung that whip at him more than once already because he had offered to help her.

But he could see that she hurt. Another long day on foot through rough terrain and nothing to look forward to but another bland and woefully inadequate meal of cold canned beans—this wasn't the kind of place for a girl like her.

Not that he'd been able to learn very much about her aside from her being the daughter of Manfred Von Karma. And that was something he wished he hadn't learned. They wouldn't be here now.

When she'd finally caught him up he reached out an arm to steady her—and waited for the sting of that whip. But it never came.

She tried to lift her arm and hit him and promptly swooned. He lowered her to the ground slowly and brushed her hair out of her face.

"Franziska?"

He eyelids fluttered and her skin was cold and clammy to the touch. She wouldn't last through very much more of this. Edgeworth swallowed, awash in guilt. He took off his pack and pulled her further into the trees. She shivered and tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down. He took off his canteen and put it into her hands.

He found himself caught for a moment in that cool blue stare. He forced a smile and drew his coat more closely around her.

The day was not terribly far-gone—it was just past midday. With the light to hide them, Edgeworth got up to find dry wood for a fire. She managed to swallow half a can of beans and drink a cup of weak tea before falling asleep.

It was all he could do to poke at the fire and put his head in his hands in dismay. They must have been skirting the Swiss border by now, but if they'd passed a roadblock, he'd missed it in their circuitous navigation through the forest. He watched Franziska sleep and smoked and tended the fire. He'd never felt so helpless in his life—not since…

Edgeworth stared across the field just visible through the trees. A few harried looking cows were scattered in the incongruously large field. The herd, no doubt, thinned by passing armies. He looked at his rifle. Of course, they wouldn't be able to slaughter a cow and carry all of that meat.

All that would come of shooting one of the placid beasts was to alert others to their presence. He turned his focus to the farmhouse in the distance. Smoke poured cheerily from the chimney. It was probably a cook fire.

"Don't be stupid Miles…" he scolded under his breath. There were spies everywhere.

He sucked a long drought from his cigarette, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils. Franziska muttered in her sleep he frowned guiltily and put a hand on her hip. He leaned back and dug out a battered a gold pocket-watch. He popped it open. It hadn't worked for years and he'd never had the means to get it fixed.

Edgeworth's father was a well-known attorney before he was murdered. Miles was only ten years old then. He'd done his best in spite of everything—even put himself through college in a vain attempt to follow in his old man's footsteps. The Army at least, gave him a commission. They promised him greatness. He would be a hero one day.

Edgeworth let out a snort of derisive laughter. Guess he screwed that one up royally.

* * *

Franziska stared at him groggily as he kicked out the fire. She made a face when he put his pack on over his chest. He came over and tried to grab her arms. She swatted him away and then held up the whip. She'd use it if she had to.

"I can't carry you all the way to Switzerland," he said.

"der Schweiz?"

"Um," he stared at her and tried to grab her arms again.

**CRACK**

"Ow! Fine, please get up?" He lifted his arms in an upward motion, "Up."

Oh, he wants me to stand. She put a hand against the tree behind her and scrabbled to a standing position. She swayed a little but used the tree to steady herself.

The soldier turned his back to her and backed up so that she was trapped between him and the tree. She glared at his back and pulled her whip taught between her hands. It gave a little snap of warning.

"Come on," he said wagging his hands above his shoulders, "I can't carry you to Switzerland but I can carry you to the farmhouse over there."

She stared and then wrinkled her brow in frustration. He wagged his hands and bent down a little, he looked so foolish. She crossed her arms. He backed up some more so that she was all but pressed into his back. Oh wait. He wanted her to climb up on his back.

She put his hands into his and he pulled them around his neck. She hopped up and he grabbed her legs one hand catching her on her bare thigh where her dress had bunched up. He hesitated and she could see the blush creep over his neck and ears.

"Trottel," she muttered as she pulled herself up and tried her best to get comfortable.

It was slow going as they crossed the field. The soldier was tired too.

Once, about two thirds of the way across the field, he nearly stumbled and they paused. She could just walk. But when she tried to get off of his back he held her fast and then hefted her and continued. She wanted to protest. This damn chivalry was getting very tiresome.

He all but dropped her at the door to the farmhouse. Before they'd had a chance to make themselves more presentable, the door opened and they were met by a very serious looking shotgun.

The soldier dropped his rifle on the ground and put up his hands.

"Please, we just… The girl, she's sick. We're hungry."

The farmer raised his gun.

"Warten Sie!" She glared at the farmer. He hesitated and then thrust his gun toward them threateningly looking from her to the soldier. The soldier still had his arms in the air.

"Nous avons marché plusieurs jours. Nous sommes fatigués et affamés. La fille ... Je pense qu'elle est malade. S'il vous plaît pouvez-vous nous aider?"

"Êtes-vous américain?"

"Oui," Franziska stared at him in awe. The soldier looked at her and put his arms down.

"Pouvez-vous…" The soldier began; he swayed where he stood.

"Venez à l'intérieur," the farmer set his gun against the doorframe and reached out to take Franziska's arms.

"Anne!" the farmer shouted into the house and a woman joined them at the door.

Franziska glanced once more at her soldier as the woman beckoned her into the house.

* * *

**_A/N: If you're reading TREES OF GREEN you'll notice some slight changes in PAPER MOON. This isn't a sequel or anything... Just an homage..._**

_The language stuff in here is so badly butchered, I'm just going to translate the not so obvious:_

**_Nous avons marché plusieurs jours. Nous sommes fatigués et affamés. La fille ... Je pense qu'elle est malade. S'il vous plaît pouvez-vous nous aider?_**

_We've been walking for several days. We are tired and hungry. The girl... I think she's sick. Please, will you help us?_

_Please don't judge me based on my bad French..._


	3. For a Horse

**Chapter Three**

**For a Horse**

It was late afternoon when Edgeworth awoke to a few nervous nickers and the warm mingled scents of horses and alfalfa hay. His body ached, but he was warm and that was an improvement. He took his time, but he finally stood and stretched before exiting the barn and making his way toward the farmhouse.

Anne, the farmer's wife, started fretting over him almost as soon as he entered the house. The farmer eyed him suspiciously, but Edgeworth's only concern was for Franziska.

They'd made up a pallet for her on the floor of what looked like some kind of workroom the wife kept. It was piled with quilts and drapes and other odds and ends.

She was sitting up and staring out of the window twisting her whip in her hands.

"Lieutenant Ed-worth," she said as soon as she noticed him. The way she brightened at the sight of him made him giddy. He smiled at her.

"How do you feel?"

She only bobbed her head a little and stared at the whip in her hands. He sat beside her on the pallet. She made a noise that might've been a giggle—but she wasn't that kind of girl—and pulled away from him and wrinkled her nose.

"Du riechst wie Pferde."

He raised and eyebrow and looked at her. She reached up and started to pluck straw out of his hair.

"Pferde," he said and caught her wrist when she reached up to pluck out another piece of straw. The hand holding the whip jerked and he let go. What was he thinking?

"Wenn wir ein Pferd hatte, wäre es viel einfacher reisen," she said matter-of-factly.

"Er, well," Edgeworth said. He was at a loss.

"Pferde?" She said.

"Right," he said, "Pferde."

She sighed and shook her head, "töricht Narr."

They stayed there for two more nights, as Edgeworth had to help with a few chores in exchange for the hospitality. He might not be very experienced with such work, but there was no substitute for a young back and willing hands. The farmer, he learned, had lost a son to the war.

In the end he wished they could've stayed longer—a week or maybe two. He had no idea what he and Franziska were going to do.

Switzerland, it turned out was right up the Rhone. They were near the river now and only had to follow it to Geneva. But just getting into Switzerland was only a small part of the problem. They could just as easily be followed into the country by the Nazis or the Americans. He thought about discussing it with the farmer, as he seemed very knowledgeable, but then, he might've already told the old man too much as it was. As he packed up what the farmer and his wife were kind enough to spare for their travel, Edgeworth turned one final decision in his mind. Pferde. He was getting the hang of this.

"Vous pouvez nous vendre l'un de vos chevaux?" Edgeworth asked the farmer when they were alone. The man gave him a shrewd look and rubbed his chin.

"Vous avez de l'argent?"

Edgeworth hesitated and then shook his head, "Non, mais j'ai de l'or."

He swallowed before digging in his pocket and pulling out his father's watch. The old man took it greedily and studied it. Edgeworth felt a sudden urge to take it back and set out on foot the next morning. It seemed wrong to see that watch in someone else's hand.

"Il ne fonctionne pas. Mais gainer est faite d'or et je suis sûr que vous pouvez le vendre pour un bon prix."

The farmer scratched at the case with his thumbnail and then nodded before pocketing Edgeworth's watch. The old man pointed at the rifle propped up beside the shotgun near the door.

"Le fusil aussi," he said and Edgeworth felt dread wash over him. He might need that.

"C'est la M1 Garand, no?"

Edgeworth only nodded. He knew he'd have to accept those terms. It was for her sake, after all.

"Oui. Puissions-nous aller regarder le cheval?"

The old man smiled and patted Edgeworth's shoulder as they walked out of the farmhouse and made their way toward the barn.

* * *

Somehow, her soldier had managed to talk the farmer into giving them a horse. It was an old punch horse with feathered hooves and a wide back. The horse was large enough to carry the both of them and a few supplies with no problem.

But the soldier preferred to walk. It was almost as if he resented the poor animal. The going was easier along the river, though there were many more people. When they passed through those populated areas, she noticed that he was much quieter. He seemed tense. Nervous. Did he know something he simply could not convey to her?

At night, he always retreated to the safety of the forest, and, in spite of the cold, he always refused to light a fire after the sun started to set. At least they had the luxury of a blanket. He always made a point to make sure she was bundled in it tightly when she went to sleep.

Her soldier always stayed awake later than her. Sometimes, when he thought she was asleep, she would watch surreptitiously as he made his rounds about their encampment.

The travel was starting to feel normal, the rough nomadic way of life had become their routine. Somehow, Franziska couldn't find anything wrong with that.

"_It's only a paper moon…"_

She glanced at him sidelong from astride the horse. The sun was lowering at their back and he was leading them away from the waterfront to find a camp for the night.

"_Sailing over a cardboard sea_…"

His voice drifted toward her from where he walked at short way ahead of the horse. It was soft, untrained for anything more than speech. That only seemed to make his song more charming.

"_But it wouldn't be make believe…_"

The setting sun shone golden behind them and she marveled at how the fire of it caught in the strands of his hair. He turned to look at her and that same light lent fire to his gray eyes. He'd caught her staring, but she didn't feel the need to hide it.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm in a dream," he said.

"Warum singst du das Lied?"

"Das Lied?" He repeated and then smiled, "I suppose… Um…"

"Sie singen für mich?"

"Singen… Oh singen… It's a song that was popular, when I was a boy… I was living with this woman that insisted I learn the piano—you have no idea what I'm saying… Do you?"

"Piano? Wir sagen Klaviers."

"Klaviers…"

"Was bedeutet… um car bore sea?"

"Huh?"

"Paper moon…"

"Oh… the song… um, it's stupid… I'm sorry."

"Nein, ich mag es."

"…ich mag…?"

Franziska smiled down at him capriciously, "Ich mag dich."

He raised an eyebrow, "Ich mag dich… Something you and me…"

"Hmm… yes…"

"Ich mag dich," he said with more confidence.

They were startled by a shout. Edgeworth stopped walking. Franziska's hands tightened around her whip.

TOK TOK TOK

The sound of machine gun fire echoed from over the hills.

TOK TOK TOK TOK

Came the reply. She felt panic rising and her arms suddenly felt like lead. She didn't even notice Edgeworth scramble up onto the horse's back until his body was pressed close against her and his arms were around in front of her. The horse whinnied at the noise and didn't hesitate when Edgeworth gave him a kick to his flank.

Franziska was cringing against his chest for several moments when she caught herself in that show of weakness. She lifted her head and leaned forward against the horse's neck.

The big horse was not very fast and he tired quickly. But the sound of gunfire had faded into the distance, he'd done his job. Franziska patted his neck appreciatively and he shook his head as he slowed to his usual plodding pace.

She could feel Edgeworth against her back. Shielding her. Her warm, solid protector.

"Are you okay, Franziska?"

"Hmm," she nodded.

They rode quietly like that for several minutes. The night seemed to be falling so fast—like a bomb. But it was quiet and still.

"You know, I like you too, Franziska," he whispered into her ear.

She shuddered slightly at the puff of his warm breath against her ear, grateful that he was behind her and could not see her blush.

* * *

**_A/N: Again, apologies for bad French and now, bad German as well..._**

**_"Du riechst wie Pferde."_**

_You smell like horses._

**_"Wenn wir ein Pferd hatte, wäre es viel einfacher reisen," _**

_if we had a horse, it would be easier to travel_

"**töricht Narr."**

Im not sure, I was attempting "_foolish fool"_

**_Vous pouvez nous vendre l'un de vos chevaux?"_**

_can you sell me one of your horses_

**_"Vous avez de l'argent?"_**

_do you have money_

**_"Non, mais j'ai de l'or."_**

_no, but I have gold_

**_"Il ne fonctionne pas. Mais gainer est faite d'or et je suis sûr que vous pouvez le vendre pour un bon prix."_**

_it doesn't work. But the case is gold and you can sell it for a good price_

**_"Le fusil aussi," _**

_The rifle as well_

**_"C'est la M1 Garand, no?"._**

_that's an M1 Garand, isn't it?_

**_"Oui. Puissions-nous aller regarder le cheval?"_**

_ yes. Shall we look at the horse. _


	4. A Place to Land

**Chapter Four**

**A Place to Land**

"Halt!"

Edgeworth jumped down from the horse and raised his hands, "Zuflucht!"

The soldiers stared at him and he swallowed apprehensively, they might just arrest him and send him back—well, as long as Franziska was safe—nothing else mattered.

He nodded toward her and the soldier with the gaudiest patch—Edgeworth assumed he was he was the duty sargeant—nodded slowly. Edgeworth counted at least four rifles trained on them.

He hoped Franziska wouldn't notice how badly he was shaking as he helped her down from the horse. He looked at her pointedly and motioned her to copy him. He put his hands in the air.

"Um… There's a gun. Eine Pistole in mein… um my bag," he jerked his head toward the horse. The sergeant nodded to one of the other soldiers and Edgeworth watched nervously as the Swiss soldier shouldered his rifle and approached to begin searching their things.

Eventually Edgeworth swallowed down the last bitter scraps of his pride and let Franziska do the talking for them. The way it made her stand a little straighter and the gleam of fiery confidence that shone in her eyes made it all worth it.

They spent that first night crowded among other refugees awaiting quarantine. The noise and the jostling crowds would've been intolerable if she wasn't there swinging that whip and hanging onto his arm as if her life depended on it. All they had in this world was each other.

It was getting easier to forget everything else and pretend that this was all they in in life. To stay together. Edgeworth lived on in her, only for her.

At night, in the straw, he held her against him for warmth while the small sounds of sleep wafted through the crowds of refugees—it might have been waves on the ocean for all the attention he gave anyone else.

Franziska stirred in his arms and he looked down into her peacefully sleeping face. Moonlight and candlelight warred with the shadows allowing him only short fleeting glimpses of this girl. His girl.

"Schön Fräulein," the old man grinned. He was serving them soup with a large dented tin spoon as they moved in line with the other refugees. The soup and a small heel of dry bread was provided as a courtesy—as many of them were not yet allowed to leave.

He wasn't able to learn exactly how long they were supposed to remain there, but Franziska didn't seem over-concerned about it, so he didn't worry. She was the only thing real in the world.

Shared quarters and cramped personal space was nothing new for him. He'd lived in orphanages from the time his father died until he was fifteen and managed to find work enough to care for himself. The Army was no different. Even as an officer, he was only allowed small personal space and expected to live close to the platoon.

He dipped his stale bread into the watery soup and sucked at the warm liquid—at least it was warm—and thought about the men he'd left behind. He'd always held back from them—maintaining a professional distance—but nothing brings men closer together than shared suffering.

He'd met most of them in the States before the unit sailed out for England and then France. Larry he'd known since childhood. Larry, who was always enamored of one girl or the next. Larry whose antics drove him to anger on more than one occasion. Phoenix too had been a boyhood friend. Phoenix should be home by now. What would they think of him now? Miles Edgeworth, a promising Army officer—a sharp mind, poised for Command—turned traitor? A deserter. A coward…

Edgeworth caught the movement of Franziska's hair in his periphery and turned to watch her eat. She was mimicking his action, sucking soup from the hard bread until it was soft enough to chew. He watched her and almost smiled—nothing else mattered except her. None of the past, and none of the Army.

They were released after twenty days. Edgeworth was relieved when their horse was returned none the worse for the ordeal. His service pistol, however, was not returned to him.

The weak autumn sun beamed down as best it could in the sky, shining bravely down as if trying to deny the oncoming winter. Edgeworth watched the sky as he and Franziska made their way through the city. He couldn't help thinking that their timing had been perfect. They wouldn't have survived the journey if they'd left now.

He looked over at Franziska and she met him with a coquettish, sidelong look. Nothing else mattered anymore.

* * *

She loved the city. With it's hills and cobbled streets. The surrounding country colored every view so that each turn of the head brought on new beauty, new art.

"You can call me Miles," the soldier told her when she'd tried to ask him a question. Miles was easier to say than Edgeworth.

He stood by, a stark, straight-backed figure in the street while she spoke with the horse seller. They needed money—at least to start. Surely, Miles could find work once they'd settled.

The horse seller eyed them suspiciously asking several times why she was there negotiating and not the man that stood in the street waiting for her. Miles was glaring in their direction and she glared at the man with an icy self-assurance, knowing that Miles would back her up as soon as she beckoned.

The whip proved to be the better negotiator, however, and she took enough money from the sale of the horse to buy them a week in a small one-roomed guesthouse. The landlady was wary, but knew better than to ask too many questions.

The place was small and the upkeep had been shoddy at best—but it was cozy and it would make a home. The water closet was shared between three other rooms, but those rooms were as yet unoccupied—so they had it to themselves.

She'd insisted he go first—she was counting on his foolish sense of gallantry, to wash quickly for her sake. That would give her time to enjoy a real bath without worrying that someone might be waiting a turn. In the end she decided the ten minutes Miles had spent in the water closet was entirely too long and barged in.

He looked shocked and scandalized and utterly vulnerable in the bath. Naked and wet and with nowhere to run.

"Du bist zu lange dauert. Was, wenn all das heiße Wasser ist weg?"

"Do you mind?" He stood up with no small amount of surprise and indignation.

"Nein," she smiled. He really was a handsome man—a little thin from the weeks spent on the run—but that would change in time.

He blushed and sat back in the water with a splash and the painful sound of elbows and knees on the porcelain. He refused to look at her after that and sat there in some kind of stubborn rage or was it fear? Franziska set her whip a top a stack of linens near the door.

She turned her back to him and started to unbutton her dress and let it fall at her feet.

"Ich denke, wir können es teilen. Das heiße Wasser, so dass weder von uns muss durch ein anderes kaltes Bad leiden," she said and then turned to face him. She put up her arms and shook out her hair.

"Ich hoffe, dass Badewanne groß genug für uns beide ist," she continued, "Auch würde ich es begrüßen, wenn du meinem Rücken gewaschen."

She looked toward the bath to find Miles staring doggedly at the wall with his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles went white.

"Miles?"

"What's going on here?" He refused to turn away from the wall and look at her.

"Haben Sie jemals eine Frau nackt gesehen?"

"nackt gesehen?" He repeated. Franziska laughed.

"Sie haben noch nie eine perfekte Frau gesehen. Schau mich an Miles," she waited for him to turn his head but he never did.

She joined him in the bath, ignoring his look of dismay as she settled in the tub in front of him. His knees popped out of the water on either side of her.

"Du bist so ein Kind, Miles Ed-worth…"

He didn't hesitate very long before dragging a warm wet washcloth over her shoulders. She was tempted to turn and see if he had his eyes closed.

* * *

_A/N: Oh my... Please review... Sorry for the little twist of lemon..._

_again sorry for my f-d up German... Also I wasn't sure what to do about low German..._

_Du bist zu lange dauert. Was, wenn all das heiße Wasser ist weg_

_You're taking too long. What if all the hot water is gone_

_Ich denke, wir können es teilen._

_I think we can share it._

_Das heiße Wasser, so dass weder von uns muss durch ein anderes kaltes Bad leiden,_

_ The hot water, so that neither of us have to suffer through another cold bath,_

_"Ich hoffe, dass Badewanne groß genug für uns beide ist,"_

_"I hope that tub is big enough for both of us," _

_ "Auch würde ich es begrüßen, wenn du meinem Rücken gewaschen."_

_ "Also, I would appreciate it if you wash my back."_

_"Sie haben noch nie eine perfekte Frau gesehen. Schau mich an Miles_

_"You have never seen a perfect woman. Look at me Miles_

_"Du bist so ein Kind_

_"You're such a child_


	5. It Wouldn't Be Make Believe

**Chapter Five**

**It Wouldn't Be Make Believe**

Edgeworth smiled as he walked the last sharp incline to the guesthouse. The sky was a blazing blue against verdant hills and the quaint cobbled streets of the town. It was hard to believe that outside of here, the world was caught in war.

He held the precious package close. She would love this.

A few birds flew overhead, quitting one rooftop for another. It was almost surreal, walking in this fairytale town while the woman he loved waited for him. He couldn't stop himself from smiling. This was like being reborn.

All of his past—the tragedy and pain he that shadowed his entire life—that was all gone. Lost in another time and space. He didn't even have to stay Miles Edgeworth. That life, that name, he could throw it out like a ragged old coat.

In spite of the steep incline, there was a giddiness in his step and he started to whistle.

"_It's only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea_... _But it wouldn't be make believe if you believed in me…_"

Aside from their marching cadences, Edgeworth only knew one song. So he sang it—only as loud as he dared—which wasn't very loud at all. He might've danced if it wasn't going to slow him down.

"_Yes, it's only a canvas sky, hanging over a muslin tree… But it wouldn't be make believe if you believed in me_…"

The flower seller waved at him from her cart. He smiled at her.

"_Without your love it's a honky-tonk parade_…"

She laughed at his song and gave him a bundle of nosegays for his schön Fräulein_._

"_Without your love it's a melody played in a penny arcade_…"

He stepped away capriciously and tapped on the guesthouse door before opening it.

"_It's a Barnum and Bailey world_—"

"Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth," Lieutenant Colonel Armando had a mug of coffee in one hand and his service pistol in the other. Edgeworth froze just inside the door.

The woman, Mia Fey, was sitting on the sofa—their sofa—with her attaché poised in her lap. Sunlight was streaming happily through the thin curtains on the window behind her. Franziska's whip lay coiled on the floor. The world had suddenly grown dark. Edgeworth felt his jaw tremble and his breath caught in his throat.

"What… Where is she?"

"She's in custody," the Fey woman said. A slow smile crept across Armando's face and he paused to take a draught from his coffee mug.

"You put up quite a chase, Lieutenant," he said and he sucked his hand at the base of his thumb where some of his coffee had splashed.

"I can explain," Edgeworth began.

"It's a little late for that," Armando said, "this cup has gone cold. There's only one thing to do with a cold cup of coffee."

Edgeworth blinked.

Armando raised his pistol.

"You throw it out, same with traitors and garbage."

Armando fired.

* * *

"MIIIIILES!"

She tried to pull away from him, but Major Marshall had a hand on her head and was trying to make her duck into the car. Lana Skye got out of the front passenger seat and turned to him.

Franziska was kicking and screaming curses in an angry tirade of German.

"Jake," Lana said and met his eye almost pleadingly.

He turned and glanced at the still open door of the guesthouse. The crack of the single gunshot was still ringing in the air. He let the girl go.

"MIIIIILES! Miles! Mein Ghot! MILES!"

She brushed past Armando just as he stepped onto the step. He followed her with a casual glance and shot the Major a pointed look. Major Marshall only frowned and slammed a hand onto the roof of the waiting car. He pulled off his fedora and stared at it in his hand.

Inside the guesthouse, Franziska knelt beside his prone figure. She struggled but turned him over. His face was lax, his lips slightly parted. The gray eyes were translucent in the light.

"Miles… Mein leiben…"

Mia was staring at the girl, she had to step around the body to go out the door. Franziska fell forward and wept into his chest.

He had a paper wrapped parcel in one hand and small bundle of nosegays in the other. For his schön Fräulein

* * *

The End

It's kind of bad, I know... I almost cried, but I don't know if that was because this was so sad, or because this was so bad...


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